It’s that time of year, when elected officials make public their personal finances and most of us miss the point.

The purpose of financial disclosure is not to see who is really, really rich – as opposed to merely rich, or just quite comfortable – in major elected and appointed offices. But, inevitably, there’s a certain nosy satisfaction in seeing somebody else’s personal information.

Aside from any useful information in the annual reports, it feels good to make the high and mighty tell us how much they owe on their homes. It probably started with Richard Nixon’s 1952 “Checkers speech,” in which he disclosed the balance on his family car and spoke of his wife’s “Republican cloth coat,” and became part of the political firmament when Nixon left Washington in a bit bigger scandal.

Coincidentally, Florida’s requirement of financial disclosure by public officers came about at the same time as Watergate. We had a lieutenant governor, three Cabinet officers, a couple of Supreme Court justices and a U.S. Senator caught up in various scandals. Then-Gov. Reubin Askew took the opportunity to champion financial reforms, including creation of the Florida Commission on Ethics and requirements for public officials to disclose at least the sources of their outside income.

Some legislators sued, unsuccessfully, and refused to seek re-election, rather than file financial disclosures with their qualifying papers. Others went farther than required, volunteering credit card balances or attaching IRS 1040 forms to show they had nothing to hide.

Soon, the system settled down and people got used to it.

But from the start, people focused on the wrong part – usually the bottom line – of these reports. Knowing how much somebody has in IRAs, bank accounts or various investments is not as important as knowing whether those holdings influence their decisions in public office. The system lets the public hold its elected officials accountable for conflicts of interests, whether the amount involved is a couple thousand or a couple million.

If a county commissioner votes to rezone some land in a way that greatly enhances an adjoining parcel belonging to a group that just happens to include the commissioner, that’s what we have financial disclosure for. That sort of information is certainly useful for an opponent in the next election, but it’s more often used for a silly titillation in the news.

It’s quicker and easier, and more fun, to sort of look through their checkbook stubs.

One news report this week noted that “although the state pays them less than $30,000 a year,” the average net worth among 160 legislators is $2.4 million. And at least 45 lawmakers are millionaires.

Well, what does the legislative salary have to do with a member’s net worth? Nobody runs for the salary. Most sessions, there will be one or two members who are full-time legislators, proudly living on their public salaries, but they tend to be married to successful doctors or lawyers, or retirees living very securely on their pensions and investments.

It was also disclosed this week that Gov. Rick Scott’s net worth was $149 million at the end of 2016, a gain of $30 million. The previous year, it was down $27 million, so the governor – who doesn’t draw a state salary – roughly broke even. But we’ve known since he entered politics in 2010 that Scott was an extremely successful hospital executive; once you get 10 digits west of the decimal, what difference does it make?

It was more significant to know, a few years ago, whether Scott had a stake in some clinics seeking state business in his short-lived attempt to drug-test state employees and welfare recipients. Just like people would like to see President Trump’s taxes – not for the income amounts, but whether it derives from policy matters he affects.

Americans like their public officers to be just like themselves, regular working folks. But could you take six months off from your job to campaign? Could your friends raise a quarter-million for you – and that’s just for a little House district? Are you friends with the speaker, the party fund-raisers, the business lobbyists and corporate kingpins who can steer campaign cash to chosen candidates?

Those are the kind of intangible assets that don’t show up on financial disclosure reports.

Bill Cotterell is a retired Tallahassee Democrat reporter who writes a twice-weekly column. He can be reached at bcotterell@tallahassee.com.